How They Don't Grow
by Yarrie - Water Master
Summary: A former rebel leader and a former royal guard sit in a jail cell together, talking about life, death, and the histories in between. Implied Shizaya. Oneshot. Semi-Medieval AU. Content warning: violence, sociopathy, and botany.


Summary: A former rebel leader and a former royal guard sit in a jail cell together, talking about life, death, and the histories in between. Implied Shizaya. Semi-Medieval AU. Trigger warning for violence.

* * *

When the bundles of cut roses started to die in the summer heat, Izaya threw the whole lot of them out the hospital window and into one of the body-carts in the street below.

The flowers floated down more heavily than he expected. There was something tranquil and wispy about the drying petals when they were hanging over the edge of a vase, but the airiness was all an illusion. One particularly healthy rose landed on the cold forehead of a middle-aged woman, slowly rolling down her waxy face until it plopped onto her lap. She didn't move an inch, of course.

Izaya hadn't meant for the flowers to fall into a body-cart, actually. It was a strangely appropriate accident.

He wasn't used to doing things on accident.

The cart eventually rolled into an unsteady gallop and he watched it disappear into the city, bouncing up and down on the unpaved road. He wondered how it would feel to be one of those roses, bobbing up and down on a fleshy, many-layered mattress of bodies. Maybe the sweetness of the flowers would cloak the smell of after-death. Or maybe the flowers would enjoy the rot and decay, threading their roots into a human trellis.

It was only noon, but the air was already thick with the dry heat that was killing his flowers before their time. He could smell the city - the charcoal-roasted meats and the warm savory bread, the grey pitted smoke and the lovely putrid scent of humans all breathing in and out as one remarkably self-destructive unit.

He breathed along, aligning himself with the rhythmic thrum of several thousand voices all trying to out-talk one another. There was a sour aftertaste in his mouth when he breathed out again. He wondered where it came from. Maybe it was the pollution in the air. Maybe it was the lingering taste of liquor. Maybe it was the last sensory memory of an old lover.

He fingered the letter tucked inside his shirt. It was wrapped up neatly in a cotton-blend envelope. The stationery had the appearance of quality but only the appearance of it, much like the government that it came from.

He had already read the letter. Assuming he had deciphered the legal jargon correctly, they were planning to hang him for treason.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

* * *

Three years ago, Shizuo would've killed him on sight. Theirs was the sort of rivalry that made bards sing and doctors sigh.

Well, it used to be, anyways.

* * *

Shizuo was never the punctual type.

"You're going to make me late for my next meeting," Izaya said, when the stupid man finally showed up.

Shizuo rolled his eyes, muttering, "As if they actually need you to be there, flea."

"Well, they do," Izaya said.

Shizuo scoffed derisively in response. "No, they don't. I'd bet money on it if I had any."

"How would you know? You've never been to any of our meetings." Not that the other rebel leaders would have allowed it. They could tolerate Izaya's occasional drinking sessions with a former royal guard, but nobody would've trusted Shizuo with confidential information. Personally, Izaya thought that their distrust was misplaced. Shizuo wouldn't have reported their activities to the government - he was more likely to beat them up himself.

Shizuo snorted. "I bet they'd be happier if _you_ never went either."

That was probably true. Izaya laughed. For the briefest of moments, he considered telling Shizuo that his 'next meeting' wasn't a meeting with the rebel leaders. No, in reality, he expected to be locked a jail cell, languishing until they found somebody willing to execute him. The impulse to let Shizuo in on the joke fled as quickly as it had come. "But Shizu-chan," he said sweetly, "they certainly need me more than _you_ do...and yet, I'm still here! How ungrateful you are."

"I'm so honored," Shizuo grunted. "Where's my milk?"

"The bartender said he couldn't get any today," Izaya reported cheerfully.

"Fine. Water."

"Why not add some whiskey to that?"

"I don't drink," Shizuo muttered, glaring at him. "You know that."

"That," Izaya replied, "is why you're depressed all the time, and I'm not."

"You're not depressed because you don't have a fucking conscience," Shizuo snapped.

"You'd still be depressed even if you didn't have one," Izaya snickered. "You don't know _how_ to be happy. Nobody ever taught you. They were always too scared to get anywhere near you, weren't they?"

Three years ago, Shizuo would've tipped the table over and tried to crush him with it.

This wasn't three years ago. The table was still standing, wavering a bit under the force of Shizuo's clenched fists, but otherwise stable.

Izaya toasted him. "Well, I like living, so I'm quite glad you have a conscience," he chirped.

Shizuo tensed even more, practically quivering under the pressure of self-restraint. "I wish I _didn't_ have one."

* * *

Izaya often wondered why Shizuo had stopped trying to kill him. Perhaps it was something as simple as respect. Perhaps it was something as complicated as hate. Perhaps it was neither, and Shizuo had simply stopped caring one day - but Izaya doubted it.

Shizuo lived so fully in his body that he overflowed, messy and blood-red on the floor. Nothing got in the way of that, not even apathy.

* * *

"I wonder," Izaya said, well after the bar had officially closed, "if you can make people into flowerbeds. Do flowers grow on humans?"

"I doubt it," Shizuo muttered through his teeth, cleaning the rim of the glass with his tongue. He didn't look as concerned about Izaya's mental stability as most people would be. "Aren't you a gardener? Shouldn't you know?"

"I suppose I should." Izaya split his face with a grin. "I bet flowers would love my body."

Shizuo looked at him sideways, eyebrows raised high. "...Nah. Can't imagine you keepin' something else alive. Can't even imagine how you keep _yourself_ alive."

"Flowers would love my body," he repeated, firmly - cheerfully. "If nothing else, because I'm full of shit."

Shizuo flinched and cracked a grin at the same time - to Izaya's disappointment he couldn't think of a good way to combine flinch and grin into a good portmanteau. Izaya finished off the amber liquor, leaned over, and spat the last dregs of it into Shizuo's half-open mouth.

Shizuo spat it back out, but not in Izaya's face like he had been expecting. The whiskey seeped and dribbled onto the floor, absorbing into the space between the unpolished wooden planks on the porch.

"Look what you did," Izaya said accusingly. "You wasted some good alcohol."

"I don't like whiskey," Shizuo said, crumpling his eyebrows together.

"I don't like _you,_" Izaya said, fiercely amused and annoyed at the same time, "but I'd still drink you up."

Shizuo's face was brightening with a red flush. "Fuck you, flea."

"Not now, Shizu-chan." Izaya waved to the bartender for another glass.

Shizuo roared at him - something undefinable, so vivid with rage that the colors of his voice painted over his meaning.

Izaya listened to the sound of Shizuo's voice absently, like a music connoisseur listening to his least favorite instrument. He was patiently, earnestly, silently critical. "Shizu-chan," he interrupted, finally, after he got sick of the ear-splitting volume that Shizuo was projecting at. "Shizu-chan, really, you're going to make me late for my next meeting."

"Fine, _go to your stupid meeting then_!"

"Praise the gods," he said lightly, "Shizu-chan is letting me go off on my own! Exactly what I was waiting for! I certainly couldn't have done anything without your _explicit permission,_ Shizu-chan."

Shizuo growled but he swallowed a few large gulps of water instead of yelling again.

They were silent - Izaya was people-watching, Shizuo was Izaya-watching.

"See you next week," Shizuo said finally, when the silence became a little too dead for him to stomach. Shizuo didn't have much tolerance for dead things in general. Izaya suspected that it was one of the reasons Shizuo had left his post as a royal guard. Being in the business of keeping people alive meant seeing a lot of them not-quite-so-alive.

"Wouldn't you like that?" Izaya beamed at him.

Shizuo scowled and stubbornly refused to reply.

Izaya left with a jaunty little wave, a haughty little skip, and a perfectly clear conscience.

Technically, he hadn't told a single lie.

* * *

Before meeting with the people who were trying to kill him, Izaya stopped by his little flower garden to water the plants. The drops of water practically glowed in the red glare of the sun hanging just above the horizon. He admired the view.

It was the little things, he supposed. You learned to appreciate all the fine details. He gathered all the flowers that had burst out of their buds into colorful spirals in the air, and walked to the hospital.

* * *

They put him in a solitary cell under the army barracks. Izaya suspected that it was a punishment room for disobedient soldiers. It was certainly decorated for the part, all pale grey edges and bony ridges. He could see and smell old blood in the cracks. Perhaps some intrepid soul had tried to scratch their way through the stone.

What foolishness. Human hands couldn't overcome stone.

He suddenly thought of Shizuo and those wide, wide shoulders, the slim and unyielding muscles of his forearms. Certainly, _human_ hands couldn't overcome stone.

Midnight came. Midnight went. Izaya didn't sleep well. He didn't sleep at all, actually.

That was the problem with insomnia. He couldn't turn it off. There was, in fact, almost nothing that he _could_ turn off about himself. He was in a constant state of over-existence.

Shinra once told him that there was nothing wrong with him, physically or mentally - his peculiarities were supposedly all inspired by idleness. Izaya had never heard a more ridiculous thing in his life. His mind was never idle. He had quit being a rebel leader out of sheer boredom. Now he was just a gardening martyr-in-training.

...that sounded even more ridiculous than Shinra's theories.

He rather liked it.

* * *

When he woke up - when had he fallen asleep? - he was startled to hear a voice that he knew.

"Flea! FLEA! Wake up!"

Izaya raised his eyelids, blearily. "...Shizu-chan?" he asked, feeling faintly delirious.

"Yeah, who the hell else?" he snorted.

Well, well, speak of the devil, and the devil shall come. "I was hoping that I was hallucinating and you weren't _actually_ fumbling around here like an idiot. What are you doing?"

"What else does it look like, fuckwit? I'm breaking you out." He grabbed the bars of the cell by both hands and squeezed, grunting with effort. The solid steel visibly bent under his fingers.

Izaya stared and stared. Then, rather dreamily, he said, "No, actually, you're not."

"Yes," Shizuo snapped, "I am."

"No," Izaya said, calm and sweet. "Not unless you want me to tell the government that you're my accomplice. I'm sure your dear Kasuka would be so _very_ safe if people were to, say, hear that his brother is guilty of treason. I seem to remember that his school requires an impeccable family record..."

Shizuo had stopped moving - stopping breathing, in fact. "You - "

Izaya just smiled. "Sit down. I'll get the guards to escort you out."

"You motherfucking flea - "

"Shizu-chan."

He sat down.

* * *

They ended up shackling Shizuo in the same cell as Izaya, much to the latter's exasperation. He could understand their concerns, though - nobody wanted to move Shizuo more than necessary. The monster that once guarded the castle wall - his reputation preceded him.

Shizuo, in the meantime, was steaming with fury. "Why the hell did you stop me?!"

"Because, like I said, I have an appointment to keep."

"They're going to kill you!"

"Well. Yes. That's the appointment I'm talking about."

Shizuo stilled, eyes wide and jaw loose.

"Why _are_ you here, Shizu-chan?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I," he started, awkwardly, fumbling around with the words. "I, well, Mairu and Kururi..."

Ah. _Ah._ And just like that, Izaya's fascination with his blond shadow thinned to a drip of contempt. This was the sort of thing fairytales were made of - an oath made to protect someone hated for the sake of better, sweeter, kinder people. "Shizu-chan," he said, keeping his voice soft and low. "Shizu-chan, this is why you have such trouble living your life. You keep prioritizing dead people."

"You're not dead," Shizuo said, harshly.

"I wasn't referring to myself," Izaya said gently, "I was referring to my sisters."

Shizuo's face looked like ash. "They're not dead either."

"Shizu-chan," Izaya sighed. "They're never waking up. You're a fool if you believe that's completely different from being dead."

"Then I'm a fool," Shizuo replied, uncharacteristically quiet. "I don't mind that. You call me a fool all the time."

"That's because it's true," Izaya said easily.

"Yeah, maybe," Shizuo snapped. "But you're an even bigger fool. Your sisters would have your head if they knew what you were up to."

"Oh dear. I'm afraid they can't have my head. It'll be gone soon."

Shizuo hissed in a long, angry breath. "I could break us out of here," he said, lowly. "I promised your sisters I'd - "

"You could," Izaya said, smiling, leaning his forehead against the cool stone. "But I'm going to ask you not to."

"You don't control me."

"No, I don't." He paused. Shizuo didn't have much talent for keeping things alive, not even the things he swore to protect. It was such exquisite irony.

Shizuo's scowl could have sparked a fire. "Why are you even doing this?"

Izaya blinked at him. "I like living," he said plainly.

This time, Shizuo's head swiveled around so fast that his dirty blond hair slapped against his forehead. "Then WHY do you have such a fucking death wish?" he snapped.

"Let me finish. I like living, Shizu-chan. But you know, with everything that's happened, and everyone that's died, I've come to a sort of...revelation, let's say."

"Oh, like the revelation that you have a death wish?" he asked bitingly, scratching against the metallic handcuffs.

"Well," Izaya blinked slowly, "that's not entirely incorrect, I suppose."

Shizuo looked like he was going to strangle someone. Probably Izaya. Possibly not Izaya, actually, since he seemed to be trying to keep Izaya alive for once...

Izaya shook his head. "Hopeless, Shizu-chan. You're hopeless." He sighed. "...Do you know what happens when you grow plants in the dark?"

The former royal guard stared at him, baffled. "...the hell?"

"I didn't use any difficult words, Shizu-chan. Are you really that dim-witted?"

A hot, angry flush filled his face. It was obvious, even in the low light. "Fuck you!"

"Fucking would be very uncomfortable on this floor. Also, that doesn't answer my question."

The red wasn't going away anytime soon. "Yeah, well, how the hell should I know?"

"Use your common sense, Shizu-chan. If you grow a plant in the dark, what do you think happens?"

He shifted, uncomfortable, unnerved. "...wouldn't grow, I guess."

"Actually," Izaya said, smiling, "plants grow even faster in the dark. Pale, sickly, miserable, but they grow faster. They keep growing until they see sunlight. And even if there's no sunlight to be had, well, they suck themselves dry trying."

They were both silent.

Then Shizuo coughed quietly and said, "That doesn't sound like you, flea. You wouldn't suck yourself dry for anyone." An even longer pause. "Not even yourself."

"Stupid," Izaya said gently, "I was talking about you."

* * *

Fucking really was uncomfortable on that floor, but Izaya didn't particularly mind. Shizuo could have a surprisingly gentle touch when he wanted to.

The point was that Izaya didn't actually _want_ to see Shizuo now, or ever. Shizuo didn't understand that.

Then again, Shizuo didn't really understand anything that Izaya actually considered important. Most of the time, that was alright, since Izaya didn't really understand either. If anything, their relationship was a compromise between two very different kinds of willful ignorance.

Izaya didn't like compromises.

* * *

The day of the execution came sooner rather than later.

Shizuo had shoved himself into the corner, sneering at the guards whenever they passed by the cell.

Izaya was getting rather exasperated at that. "Shizu-chan, they were entertaining. Stop scaring them away."

"They're going to kill you and you're worried about scaring them away," he said disbelievingly.

"Well, I _am_ the face of the rebellion right now. No doubt they're worried that they'll actually find themselves on the losing side."

Shizuo snorted. "...I doubt _that's_ why they don't like you."

"Shizu-chan, people generally don't need a specific reason to dislike me. Dislike seems to be the default position."

Shizuo turned around slowly, eyes flashing with a glint of brilliant white light. "But you don't need to die for that," he said, quietly, with a fierce sort of desperation.

Izaya blinked at him, wondering why Shizuo was the upset one if he wasn't even going to be executed. He could understand Shizuo's reaction on a strictly intellectual basis, but there was no visceral punch for Izaya himself. He had been looking forward to this day for quite some time, in fact. "No," he said very gently. "I keep telling you why I don't have to but I want to. You're just not listening."

"Tell me again."

"I don't want to live now," Izaya sighed. "I want to live forever. And you know how fickle the world is. Eventually even my bones will crumble and I'll be the dirt in somebody else's garden."

"Won't everybody?" Shizuo asked - exactly like he had before.

"No." Izaya shifted around. "Do you know the name of the first emperor, Shizu-chan?"

"...of course, everyone knows that - "

"Well, that's it, you see? History. History is how people live forever, or as close to it as we can manage." Izaya smiled lightly at him. "And in the time frame that I had to work with, helping the rebellion seemed to be the easiest way to make history."

"That's messed up," Shizuo said quietly.

"Ah, but you see my options? Either I die with no chance of making history, or I die with a chance of making history. It's quite obvious, really, which one I'm leaning toward."

"But if you do it this way, you'll die today." Shizuo swallowed. "And I - "

"You," Izaya countered, "do not get a say in how I choose to lead my life - or end it, as it were."

Shizuo's face curled into an expression of raw fury folded with helplessness. "Flea. I...you flea."

"Mmmm, I know how you feel, but it's not that simple." Izaya grinned fiercely at him. Shizuo, for all his recklessness, was not a complete imbecile. He knew that Izaya had the influence to make his life - and his brother's life - fall apart. He also knew from bitter experience that Izaya was not shy about using it. It was just like haggling, really. Bluffing was only meant for those who could follow through.

Shizuo closed his eyes heavily. "No. It is. It's fucking simple. That's what it is." He smeared away some of the dusty dirt from his temple.

"Yes, in many ways, it's very simple." Izaya tucked his chin into his knees and tilted his head. "Shizu-chan. Why did you stop trying to kill me three years ago?"

"You're the genius. You figure it out."

Izaya leaned back and surveyed him, calmly. "If it's about my sisters, you don't have to feel guilty."

Shizuo's breath hitched, sharpened. "Don't," he snapped.

"I know it was an accident. You're quite possibly the softest person I've ever known when it comes to children - "

"Izaya, _shut the fuck up_."

"What? I've struck a nerve? Oh dearie me, whatever shall I do? I'm so afraid, it's not like I'm going to die soon or anything," he commented wryly.

Shizuo clenched his eyes and mouth closed.

"Shizu-chan. Really. I don't hate you for that. That's one of the least annoying things you've done to me. You realize that I understand what an accident is?"

"Would've been easier if you were pissed off at me," Shizuo breathed out, barely a whisper.

"Why? So that you can feel like _I'm_ the vindictive one? No. That would be altogether too satisfying for you and unsatisfying for me. I'm not going to make you comfortable for no good reason." He casually picked at his nails. "At any point, I have the rest of my eternal life in front of me. I think I'm going to enjoy making history. The rebellion needs a martyr, you know? They'll fall apart otherwise. But just in case everyone else forgets about me anyways..."

Shizuo stared at him as Izaya moved closer, gliding his fingers through blond strands, just like the night before.

"...you'll remember, won't you?" A smile that sliced like the edges of a saw.

Shizuo nodded. Tight. Short. Two clipped bounces of his chin. Then Shizuo's flat-edged fingers gripped Izaya's neck, holding him there firmly.

Izaya's eyes were closed. He hadn't bothered to watch for Shizuo's answer. "Good."

* * *

Izaya had a little more self-awareness than most. He knew his own faults perfectly well. There was more than one reason that Shizuo had stopped trying to kill him three years ago, and if Izaya was perfectly honest with himself, there was more than one reason he hadn't taken revenge on the man.

They took him up to the platform and turned him around to face the crowd.

"Lovely day to die, isn't it?" his executioner asked mockingly.

It really was, with pale blue skies and warm puffy clouds, speckled with glimmers of sunlight.

"Perfect," Izaya said, agreeably. He kept his face to the sun the whole time.


End file.
